Stress Is
by Obi the Kid
Summary: After the events of Downfall, Cal reflects. (Cal POV)


**Title**: Stress Is

**POV:** Cal

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** After the events of Downfall, Cal reflects. (Cal POV)

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

**Spoilers for _Downfall_**

* * *

Stress is caring for a newborn as a four year old.

Stress is raising a toddler as a child.

It's watching the monsters in the window and keeping them secret from the little brother that relies on you for everything.

Stress is hunger.

Stress is working a damn job when you are twelve so your little brother can eat.

It's raiding trash cans for school clothes and dumpsters for food.

Stress is doing everything in your power to make sure Social Services doesn't look into your home life so that you and your little brother can always stay together.

Stress is reflecting hateful words from your 'mother' away from that same little brother.

It's keeping him warm during colds nights when there is no heat.

Stress is making sure he does his homework and doesn't get beaten up by bullies and doesn't do any of the beating up _of _bullies in school.

Stress is reading and learning every minute of your life, so that you can be the smartest person alive in order to keep your little brother safe from whatever hell lies ahead.

It's walking him to and from school, making sure he goes to bed on time and forcing him to make something positive out of every day.

Stress is learning how to use a knife at the age of seven and then teaching those same skills to that same little brother as soon as he's capable of holding that same knife.

Stress is listening to your little brother talk about dying by your side if anything ever happened to you, and you teaching him the most efficient way of ending his own life.

It's watching his face fall when you leave for college on Monday morning, knowing you'll not return until Friday evening.

Stress is helping him to understand that the monsters he now knows are real – they live inside him, but that he's not a monster.

Stress is almost losing him to a human serial killer and then killing that human to save him.

It's holding your non-responsive little brother close to you that same day, telling him he's safe and that everything was okay, even when you knew it wasn't.

Stress is watching him vanish into a gray hole in the world at fourteen, taken by those horrifying monsters that had been watching through windows for so many years.

Stress is sitting helplessly on your knees in the dirt, waiting for him to come home through that same gray hole, knowing he would not.

It's being terrified out of your mind when he does return and is changed in ways unimagined.

Stress is needing to return your little brother to sanity and having no idea how to help him do it.

Stress is living on the road, trying to get by and desperate to make him understand that he's home and safe, as he flinches from your touch.

It's finding safety where there is none.

Stress is the lava-eyed monsters that took him at fourteen return and try to take him again.

Stress is watching your little brother become more like them, in order to kill them.

It's seeing him make his very own gray hole in the world and the sickening high that fills his soul after.

Stress is watching him flash eyes of crimson as he chases down a deer and devours it alongside a pack of Wolves.

Stress is wondering if he'll return back to you and if those eyes will ever again become gray.

It's watching your little brother on the brink of death time after time, his blood on your hands.

Stress is seeing his black hair go silver, his eyes go red and his teeth become a thousand metal needle-points.

Stress is having to see he and Grimm - so much alike - face off and knowing that little brother you raised and loved is not far from completely becoming what he tried so damn hard not to be.

It's shooting him to save him and then praying that he lives.

Stress is knowing that your last days are here and in order to defeat the monster Grimm, your little brother must wholly become that same monster.

Stress is knowing that he will die, though not alone. Never alone.

It's standing with him as he turns, gripping tight to his hand and feeling the life ripped from you.

Stress is death. Then life.

Stress is lying cold in the snow as a Wolf healer puts your body back together.

It's relief in knowing that your little brother lives as well.

And now we're home, two days later. Friends have gone, and I'm left to reflect on our lives. That immense stress that Niko has lived under for twenty-seven years – he's at peace now.

At peace for the first time in forever. If any human ever earned that, it's my brother.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch now, I nudged him and leaned closer.

"Time to let go for a while, Nik." I said it. I meant it.

He exhaled deeply. "Of you? Never, little brother."

Yeah, did I really expect anything less?

"Of things, Nik. You don't have to hold the world on your shoulders anymore. You don't have to carry me anymore. I got the Auphe off my back. I can do my fair share now. You can rest. Finally, you can rest. Twenty some years you've looked after me and by some freakin' miracle, your head didn't explode, although it's come close in the last year. Just take some time and rest."

"Delilah is still out there, Cal. Now that Grimm is taken care of, her deal with Robin is off. She'll want blood. Yours. And you know how strong she's gotten. And the Vigil. They'll return. Who knows what else? And we don't know yet about your gating ability."

Stress is worrying about the future. Stress is worrying about that little brother that you love so damn much that it hurts. But no more. Not today anyway. We'll worry later. They'll be plenty of time later.

"You need to de-stress, Cyrano. Seriously. You should see Promise. Spend some days with her."

He shook his head, his response firm. "Not today. Not right now. Soon. But not now."

Stress is wanting to believe so badly that things are better and then realizing how many bad things still exist in the world.

I gave up for a while and offered what I knew he'd accept. "Me and you then, Nik. Get some take out, watch a movie, oh, maybe surf the internet and get a new bed for you. The majority of yours was gated to Arkansas, remember? Although, we can go get it if you want. I wouldn't mind a road trip. I mean, that last one….that last one was filled with such memorable moments of happiness and joy."

"Robin owes me a bed," he yawned. "I'm sure he has people. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll take the couch for the night."

Stress is being exhausted and unable to give in. Even when your mind and body has nothing left after two and half decades of giving it all.

And Nik was done. So done. Bring ripped apart by a gate to the sun and dying horribly will do that to you. I knew. I could relate.

I left the couch to call for pizza and tipped the guy extra for not being a member of the Vigil and trying to shoot my face off as the pizza boxes changed hands. Then I was back to our living room. Too late. Nik was out cold, still in the position I left him in, although leaning heavily to his left. I fixed myself a plate and a Coke and then settled my brother horizontally on the sofa; his head cushioned against my thigh on one of those annoying square couch pillows that generally serve only to be hurled towards my head as flying projectiles of death. This one had a better use for the moment.

I downed a slice of pizza - heaven in three bites - before flipping on the TV. I asked Nik what he wanted to watch, but his only response was a soft snore. I found something mindless and shoved in another pepperoni loaded slice. At my side, Niko's shoulder jumped just slightly. Nightmare. It would figure. Good times or not – not that we had many - we never seemed to be able to escape the nightmares that followed us.

Stress is having to relive the fear for your little brother over and over in your mind once you fall to unconsciousness. Worried that even in your dreams, you'll lose him.

Wiping my hand on my shirt, I reached down and tugged softly on Niko's braid. It would settle him. It always did.

"No worries, Cyrano. I'm alive. You're alive. We're safe. We're good. But just in case, I'll stay up, stuff my face with greasy pizza, watch bad TV and…" I gave another tug. "I'll watch over you, big brother. Just like you've done for me every damn second of our lives. I'll watch over you."

Stress is…our lives. There was just no escaping it.

But we'd be okay.

* * *

The End.


End file.
